


Fake Empire

by heyginger



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:26:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyginger/pseuds/heyginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...And that’s how Patrick ends up in the backseat of Pete’s car on his way to some haunted house in Wood Dale at 8:00 on a school night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fake Empire

When Pete calls, Patrick is upstairs in his bedroom pretending to do homework. His Aunt Terry stopped by after dinner; he can hear her voice, dry and cheerfully resigned, echoing up the stairs. He can smell the General Foods International Coffee and hear his mom laughing, then his aunt laughing, and he knows that they’re talking about Aunt Terry’s coworkers at the bank again. Part of him wants to go downstairs and lean against the counter because Aunt Terry is funny, and she's his godmother, and she once pushed his hair back from his forehead and told him that the day he was born was the most exciting day of her life. But he's 16 and it's Thursday night and he doesn't have a curfew so he should be out. Except he doesn't have anyone to go out with, really--sometimes he catches a movie with Joe, and every once in a while Pete will ask him to do something, but Joe has a new girlfriend, and Pete has friends coming out of the walls.

It’s October and just after dark, but still pretty early, and for the first time this year Patrick can see fog forming on the window in front of the desk in his bedroom, cupped in the corners because of the cold. Their house isn’t very big, but tonight, with the cold outside and the coffee smell, it feels even smaller. It feels close.

The phone rings and Patrick can hear his mom answer it downstairs. He doesn't know what Pete says but by the time his mom is knocking on his door, holding the handset out to him, she’s already nodding her permission to Patrick. And that’s how Patrick ends up in the backseat of Pete’s car on his way to some haunted house in Wood Dale at 8:00 on a school night.

Pete’s driving and some guy named Trent was already in the passenger seat when Patrick scrambled into the back at the curb in front of his house. He’s pretty sure Aunt Terry was peeking out through the curtains when they pulled away, with his mom pointing and whispering over her shoulder. Patrick’s mom likes Pete, basically, although he knows she thinks he’s vaguely troubled.

Patrick thinks she isn’t wrong. Patrick thinks he likes Pete, but the way he likes Pete makes Pete shimmer in his vision like a mirage, like the way gas from a barbecue grill makes everything normal in your backyard ripple and shudder until you feel dizzy from looking. Patrick doesn’t know what that means.

Pete and Trent are already talking about something, some movie, maybe Eyes Wide Shut.

“Did you see it, Patrick?” Pete asks.

“Um, no. I don’t, I don’t think so.” Patrick looks up from where he's poking at the orange foam bursting out around the duct tape from a split in the vinyl seat under him. "Wait, what movie?"

Pete laughs and says, "Blair Witch, man," but Patrick can see his eyes crinkle at the corners and the little glances Pete keeps flicking up to the rear view mirror are ridiculously fond, so Patrick knows it's okay. "Ground control, to Major Stumph," Pete laughs again, a warm little chuckle that makes Patrick unclench the fist he's got tucked in the small of his own back.

Then Trent says, "More like Ziggy Stardust," at the same moment Patrick says, "I haven't seen it, then," and this time when Pete laughs there's nothing warm in it. Patrick can feel his face flush and he can’t really think of what to say next, isn’t comfortable with one of Pete’s friends in the car, with Pete maybe kind of laughing at him, so he just. Stops.

The car is silent for one long, weird moment.

Patrick thinks he sees Trent shoot Pete a little look, raising his eyebrow, and Patrick’s mind fills in the unspoken who is this kid?, so Patrick does what he always does in these situations—he looks out the window and widens his eyes a bit and tells himself over and over that he knows he’s being awkward and aloof and he just doesn’t care. He pretends that this is who he is. Unaffected.

When he doesn’t say anything, Pete and Trent go back to talking about horror movies. Patrick isn’t exactly more comfortable, so he just pretends about that, too. It’s 45 minutes of Patrick being rigid and aloof in the backseat before they even get there, and he’s already exhausted and wondering a little bit why he even came.

They drive past the line for the haunted house several times before Pete just parks in a dark funeral home parking lot two blocks away. Pete’s is the only car in the lot and he takes up one and a half parking spots with his crappy parking. Pete and Trent walk in front of Patrick and Pete trips and Trent hoots out a loud laugh, and then they’re shoving each other. Patrick shuffles along after them, and he’s not not having fun, exactly, but he thinks that this will be one of those things that you tell your friends at school the next day and it sounds way more awesome than it actually was. Then Pete looks over his shoulder and says, “Hey, Stumph, light a fire, baby,” and Patrick hurries to catch up. Pete wraps one arm around Patrick’s shoulders then shoves Trent one more time, hard, pulling Patrick along with him and into his body at the same time, and Patrick smiles and shoves Pete, just a little bit. So maybe he is having fun.

The line is fucking long, curling down the middle of a barricaded street. Within 15 minutes Patrick’s toes are frozen solid. Pete and Trent are talking about some girl named Kristy now, and Patrick listens sometimes and looks around sometimes and mostly doesn’t say much. There’s a man in a Superman costume in front of them sitting on a big blue cooler full of beer. He has a huge gut, looks kind of like the guy who sold Patrick’s dad the sub pump for their basement, and he eyes Pete’s tattoos and black nail polish with disgust.

Within 10 minutes Pete’s talked Superman into sharing his beer. Patrick says no thanks.

When Trent wanders off to go find a bathroom, Pete throws his arm around Patrick like he had earlier, when they left the car. He says, "This is supposed to be scary shit, man--it should be fun."

Patrick says, "Hmm."

"Not that into Halloween?"

Patrick thinks about it while he tucks his fingers into his jacket sleeves. "No, it's not that. Well, I mean, it's kind of that. I just...don't really like having to pretend to be someone else." Actually Patrick doesn't like any of it. Not wearing stupid wolf-ear headbands or face paint or plastic chains around his neck, and especially not having everyone looking at him, evaluating his costume.

Pete's nodding. "Yeah, every year I always think it's gonna be so awesome, like, shedding my skin or something, but. I don't know, it's never that great." And privately Patrick thinks that Pete is the kind of guy other guys wish they could be for a day. But. He'll never say that.

Instead he says, "And even if it were awesome, it would be gone the next day. It doesn't change anything."

"Exactly! I’m just…stuck being me, and I know it going into Halloween, and I know it coming out, too." Pete says, and he has the same warm look in his eyes that was there earlier, like Patrick is the only person in the whole world he could have this conversation with, but this time he's not smiling. This time his mouth is soft and a little bit open, and Patrick's stomach kind of tightens up, and his pulse might be just a little, tiny bit fast. He looks down at the ground.

After a moment, Pete says, “You’re freezing, Stumph.” And Patrick says, “Undeniable. It’s fucking cold.”

“Let me warm you up,” and Pete has Patrick’s face smashed into his armpit before Patrick even knows what happened. Patrick shouts a little bit and pushes Pete away as hard as he can manage with one arm, but not before he smells smoke and sweat and burning leaves. He’s laughing and scrunching up his face, and he says, “Vile, man…” before he feels Pete’s beery mouth graze his cheekbone and he trails off after that. Pete’s lips are hot and suddenly Patrick’s face isn’t freezing anymore at all. His whole body is coiled tight against Pete’s side and he doesn’t really know what to do next, or where to look.

Pete grabs his elbow tight, tight, and says, “Patrick, you’re perfect,” in this voice that kind of cracks in the middle, and all the feelings Patrick ever had about Pete, all the vague worry and all the awkwardness, it just folds over itself and wraps around like origami until suddenly it takes the shape of something else entirely and Patrick...kind of wants to throw up, but not in a bad way.

Then Trent comes back, and Pete lets go, and Patrick still just stands there, looking at the ground with his face on fire; thank god for the dark.

When Patrick looks back up, Pete's whole face has changed. He's smiling again but his eyes are distant. He says, “Trent, man, where’d you find the toilet?” and Trent directs him to a McDonald's around the block.

Patrick stands there with Trent, hardly breathing, and tries to think of something to say. He asks if Trent’s in school and then Trent pretty much runs with the conversation, talking about his band, and his younger sister who's autistic, and his girlfriend's new Dachshund. Patrick spends the whole time staring over Trent’s shoulder, watching for Pete to come around the corner, cheek burning where Pete’s breath had condensed.

After 10 minutes, Trent runs out of stuff to say and Patrick runs out of questions to prompt new stuff to say, so they just shift back and forth in silence.

After 15 minutes, Patrick wonders if Pete really had to piss, or if he just. Wanted to leave.

After 19 minutes, Pete turns the corner. He has his arm around a girl’s shoulders. She’s blond and small and cute, with freckles and dark eyeliner that’s smeared a little bit down her cheeks. Pete says, “Guys, this is Jenny.”

“Jessie!” the girl corrects, but she’s giggling.

“Jessie,” Pete says, with a smirk. He looks at Trent, who’s smirking right back at him. “We’ll be in that alley over there. Just send Patrick to get me when you get to the front of line.”

Trent says, “Sure, dude,” and gives Pete five down by his hip, out of the girls line of sight, as they pass. Pete says, “Don’t miss me too much, Stumph,” and he leans over and licks Patrick’s face, right in that same spot, big and dramatic and wet, making a joke out of it. The girl laughs and tugs Pete’s hand, and Pete laughs, too, and looks at Patrick with eyes that are wide and happy and it’s maybe a little bit forced, but Patrick can’t tell, not for sure.

Pete walks off and suddenly that spot on Patrick’s face is freezing, saliva evaporating away in the cold fall night. Patrick’s whole body is freezing from that spot out.

Patrick stands in the line next to Trent, who’s looking a little awed by Pete’s conquest. Patrick stands there, and looks at the man in the Superman suit, and the hoodrats shouting vulgarities at each other under the next streetlight. He listens to the high school jocks try to impress their girlfriends behind him. He looks at the locked up storefronts and the litter overflowing from trashcans under streetlights and he thinks about the smell of Café Vienna coffee, and he really wishes he were still at home.

And in the car on the way back, Pete teases Patrick about how he shrieked a little bit and jumped when the zombies popped out of the wall like he doesn't think Patrick can see the hickey just below his Adam’s apple. And Patrick sits in the back seat and pretends he’s aloof. Because that’s what he always does. He pretends that this is who he is. Unaffected.

the end

 

**Author's Note:**

> * I listened to Fake Empire by The National and Citrus by The Hold Steady on repeat while writing this. Not betaed, sorry. Thanks for reading.


End file.
